Boozy Lady’s inexpert bag stowing had taken a small chunk out of her pinkie finger. The anticoagulant effect of cocktail hour plus her inability to locate the source of her wound was a messy combination. I pulled out my purse, located a Band-Aid and offered to wrap up the offending digit.

“You must be a mom. Who has Band-Aids? You’re a mom!”

“Yup.”

Bernie slid the window shade down and feigned sleep a little harder. But flight-averse Boozy Lady wanted it open.

“Hey,” she poked her aisle mate again, “Can I move over next to my sister so I can see out her window?”

“Ma’am, we’re pushing back. No one is moving right now.”

Boozy Lady elbowed me conspiratorially and lamented loudly that she couldn’t see out of the window. With one eye open, Bernie slid the panel up again.

Come on in and browse. The biscuits were made fresh this morning, the Slush Puppie machine was just refilled with a new bottle of red syrup, and we have the biggest selection of bait this close to town.